Special Operations
by Hero Jones
Summary: The son of Tiberius Braxton is on a mission to prove himself, with his covert group of men.


**Special Operations**

**Chapter 1: One Last Exercise**

THE AIR IN the room damp and heavy with the breathing of its occupants. After a hard days training and exercises, they all wanted some rest. All except one that is.

One man lay on his cot and was busy thinking. He wanted to do one last training exercise before they really got into a deep sleep. The thinking lasted for quite some time.

The man stood up, put back on his polished boots and calmly left the room into the hallway. The air in the hallway was fresher than that of the bunkroom. The gray looking bulkheads were just as they had been just hours before, dull.

He paused at the doorway as the door slid shut behind him. Those men in the bunkroom had been through some of the toughest training any man in the galaxy has had to undergo. The pride that he felt was like getting promoted by his father. His father…_how long has it been_?Too long to see the man who shaped his life into what he was_. I should be with him right now, not doing what I am. _But, duty to the Emperor came before all others.

He stuck his hands into his combat pants and started to walk down towards the mess hall. The few people he saw on the way saluted, but he just waved them off. One last exercise was to be completed.

The mess hall was vast and had hundreds of tables with four chairs staked up on each. He walked to the other end to where the food counter was. He stopped just before the counter and coughed

The cook was busy cleaning the dishes of the last meal, and didn't notice the man approaching. He was saying the Emperor's Prayer, and washing out the crumbs from a bread pan. There was a cough behind him and he turned quickly about to grab his knife, only to see a captain standing across the counter.

'How may I help you sir?'

'I am in need of some ketchup.'

'Ketchup? What would you do with some ketchup as this time of the night cycle.'

'One last exercise.'

'Okay…its over there behind the boxes. Take as much as you want. Emperor knows they give us too much of that stuff anyway.'

The captain hopped over the counter and walked behind the towering boxes of foodstuff. All of it was dehydrated of course, as to ensure it couldn't spoil.

He found what he needed, peeling back the plastic inside the box, and dipped several plastic knives into the ketchup. It was just enough to spread it onto the knives. At this he stood, resealing the plastic and closed up the box.

Turning on his heel, he again leapt the counter, and said, 'Thanks for the help.'

The cook was already cleaning up where he had left off, and without looking replied, 'No problem captain.'

THE ROOM WAS just as dark as it was when he had left. The only thing different was that some of the breathing was replaced by snoring. The door was closed behind him and he just stood there, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom.

After five minutes, his eyes were ready and he was already moving into the room. Every member of the team was fast asleep, something that from day one, they should know not to do. Half-sleeping is what he had said to them. _Never totally go into a deep slumber that you can't hear the things on the outside._ _Now let us see who listened to the good captain._

The first bed he came to was that of one of his sergeants. This one was an arrogant piece of work. Always wanting to outdo and beat everyone, which he did too often. Now he was peacefully sleeping away. The captain wiped a good amount of ketchup onto the man's shirt. Then he stuck the plastic knife into the sergeant's spleen. The man was about to let out a yelp of pain, but was silenced by the captain's fist. The sergeant lolled on his cot, unconscious.

_One down_. Next on the captain's list was the sniper of the group. This man was a big guy, who could hold his own. The captain stood above the sniper's cot and again smeared ketchup onto the man's shirt. The sniper stirred at this and was subsequently put out by a quick blow to the back of the head.

The captain continued this form of torture on the next several men. Both corporals, the flame trooper, both comms troopers, the missile launcher specialist, and both assault troopers were all knocked out by the captain. Each and everyone of them had a big stain of ketchup on them.

The other sergeant was last, and the captain stalked quietly up to his cot. The sergeant sprang up and smashed a right hook into the captain's temple. The hit sent the captain down the aisle.

The sergeant was up and in a fighter's stance, with both fists balled and up, legs spread. The captain stood. His dizzy spell was just leaving as his opponent came at him. Both of the sergeant's massive fists were swinging from every direction. The captain deflected each blow with easy flicks of his forearm. He lashed out with a boot and connected with the sergeant's gut, bringing the man to his knees.

The sergeant was still a little sleepy, but after that blow to the gut, he was wide-awake. He looked up just in time to duck a swinging boot. His own boot kicked out and he connected, hearing a grunt of pain.

The captain stumbled back a few paces and waited for the sergeant to rise. The sergeant rose, dramatically, and stared at the captain. They both got into fighter's stances, each ready for the other.

Then the captain unfolded a balled fist and motioned, 'Bring it on.'

The sergeant steadily walked towards the captain, making sure his fists were raised and ready to strike or parry. The captain started to back up, moving to the center of the room, and the sergeant followed.

The middle of the room was clear of all obstacles and would prove who had it in them to prevail.

They circled one another for what seemed like a lifetime. The sergeant made the first move and lunged at the captain, swinging with his right hand, and the captain made to block but saw it was a feint. He willed himself into the actual punch, which he blocked with ease.

The sergeant was stunned at this maneuver, and saw something that he couldn't have stopped no matter what he did. The fist smashed into the sergeant's nose with a satisfying crunch, causing him to fall forwards. He landed hard and cupped his broken nose with both hands, squealing in pain like a stuck pig. The captain stood over the squirming man and with both hands together in a massive fist struck down onto the sergeant's head, causing him to hit the deck, with his dead weight.

'That was a good exercise boys. Especially you Sergeant Escus.'

One at a time, the captain swung the men onto his broad shoulders and carried them to the infirmary. The medics were shocked to see such a sight. One approached the captain and said, 'What happened? And why is there ketchup on their clothing?

'One last exercise,' was the reply that the captain gave, as he hauled the last of the unconscious men into the room. After which he abruptly left the room.

He entered the bunkroom once more and with no one else left, he feel into his half-sleep. The men under Captain Naumus Braxton would yet become the greatest covert group there ever was. They were still a good week away from the target.


End file.
